


it's more courageous to overcome

by dykeacademia



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Child Abuse, Depression, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Medication, Mental Health Issues, POV Zuko (Avatar), Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, References to Depression, Therapy, a little zukka but it's not the focus, brief mentions of suicide/suicidal ideation, no i'm not processing my own issues through zuko what do you mean, this is a mess i wrote it at three am i apologize in advance, this is really just me projecting onto zuko oops, very slight mentions of gore, zuko really just needs some therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25133893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykeacademia/pseuds/dykeacademia
Summary: zuko doesn't know what he needs. but he wants so much, the wanting fills up the caverns of his chest. he wants warmth, love, safety. so he goes to sokka. because, what else can he do?or, zuko's having a bad night, and he wants sokka to hold him and tell him everything will be alright.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 38
Kudos: 221





	1. since there is no me without you

**Author's Note:**

> yes i just binged a:tla and a:lok and i'm projecting onto zuko like a BITCH, what about it? anyway, this fic is the product of a early morning crisis, so instead of actually going on a walk to throw rocks at my crush's window, i wrote this. it does reference past child abuse, slight suicidal ideation, and past relationship abuse. (i see zuko as having previously dated jet, and it was an abusive relationship, so that was in my mind while writing this, but it's not extremely explicit in this fic, so do with that what you will.) please read the tags, please proceed with caution, and i hope you enjoy this! (or cry and realize how emotionally numb you are and how you never feel like you'll ever be truly loved, your choice.)
> 
> title from "achilles come down" by gang of youths.

tonight is a night made for leaving. it's a bitter cold night, where the chill wraps around your arms and tightens like a vise. the wind crescendos into a wailing peak, then slithers down to a soft whine. clouds clothe the moon a waxy white, and zuko feels like he’s going to seep out of his skin.

it's not a bad night in particular, really, it's just a night. but his ears are ringing sharply, because that's what they do when the stress starts building. he feels panicky. he needs to shut down or go off. he's full of energy and he doesn't know where to let it flow, in or out of him. he feels like everything is building on each other, waves pounding against the feeble walls he's built, and if he doesn't do something they’ll all come crashing down. it's like a fog, filling his lungs with vapor. something viscous and sickly sweet, curling around his chest like talons. 

he just needs to get out.

out of his body, out of his mind. out of the heavy sweatshirt he's wearing, because at first the weight was soothing, but now it's suffocating and he can't think. zuko needs to get out of this apartment, with its screeching hinges and crackling floors. if he sees another psych textbook he's going to lose it. it's all fun and games, majoring in psych, until you're having a depressive episode and you refuse to use the techniques you learned in class just a week ago. azula would probably think this was hilarious. but azula was currently in therapy, so she didn't get to poke fun at his mental health. 

he was proud of her, though, even if he'd never admit it. she was doing what he never could: actually committing to getting better. he'd been to therapists before, of course, and he'd tried medication. but being vulnerable made zuko want to spill his guts out, whether that was through the mouth or through deep tears in the lining of his stomach, he didn't quite care. (he'd used this same analogy once before, and almost got admitted, until he hastily backtracked and said it was an ill-timed joke.) medication was about as helpful as asking his father to live rent-free in the catacombs of his psyche, and that was already pretty close to true. zuko knew this wasn't normal, knew that most people didn't take a minute to answer “how are you?” and “are you okay?”. knew that feeling like invasive vines were crawling up your spinal cord when talking about himself, his past, jet, his father, was absolutely not something others experienced on the daily. but he couldn't open up. he was probably broken by now. 

your father slamming you into solid marble walls a dozen times could do that to you, right? mess with your head until the only things bouncing around in there were a few shreds of brain mass and enough undiagnosed disorders to fill up a DSM? 

but zuko wasn't angry, or bitter. he'd accepted it. he knew that he'd live with his scars for the rest of his life. the fire that had burst from the hole in his chest had settled and cooled. now, smoldering embers lay where a raging inferno once blazed. pushing the embers around could always persuade a small flame, but it was never the same. now, he was just numb. numb and cold and quiet and silent and in a never-ending depressive episode. he found it funny, really. he was depressed and he wasn't even all that sad. numb, self-deprecating, suicidal (because apparently taking an eternal nap counts as being not alive, which zuko still takes issue with), he had it all. but he didn't cry, didn't mourn for who he used to be. he felt everything and nothing at the same time, but he wasn't sad. sad was too tiny a word to describe the vast and echoing gap that filled the space under his ribcage.

everything about him felt wrong. so he went to find the only thing that made him feel right.

sokka’s apartment was about a half hour away by car, give or take. he'd driven there enough to know that the whims of the traffic gods were as volatile as storm-wracked seas. sokka lived right across a major highway, and it was hell trying to cross it just about any time of day. but he did it, regardless. because it was sokka. because he'd do anything for sokka.

the brilliant boy with a sunbeam smile. the architect, the creator, the leader, the lover. sokka was everything. he was the colors of the sky, vibrant reds and golds, murky blues and violets. he was the scent of the forests, musky sweet airs of decay and denouement, the fresh and bright tones of life and new growth. his voice was like birdsong, his gait like a smooth stream. he was poetry and prose, he was sweet tea and kentucky whisky. he was aurora borealis on the darkest night of the year. standing on the ice, doused in inky black, waiting for glorious streams of pink and green to swirl through the pitch. sokka was rapture and ruin, ascendence and ashes. he was beautiful and wonderful and he always managed to share just a little bit of his light with zuko. enough so that zuko didn't feel like he was the only one in the world.

he felt safe in sokka’s arms, sheltered and protected from himself. sokka was the sun and zuko was the moon, forced to dance around each other, only meeting for moments, tender as they may be. he knew he was pushing his luck, tonight. sokka had a test this week. he was probably asleep, or busy, or he just didn't want to see zuko. but something in him was roaring, toeing the line between self-soothing and self-destructing. he wasn't sure which one he wanted more.

it took him a while, to get to sokka’s. he wasn't sure exactly how long. somewhere between “too much” and “not enough”. his brain was still lingering on the beltway, cars racing past like his thoughts, hurtling by at sickening speeds. but his heart was ahead of him, perched on sokka’s windowsill like a shriveled, dead plant. (zuko didn't think he quite knew how to love anymore. but he was trying, god was he trying.)

before his head could catch up with his fingers, they were curled around a small pebble, and he gently tossed it against sokka’s window. the rock hit with a muffled thwack, and zuko thanked every god that surrounded him on this desperate night that the glass didn't break. soon, sokka’s warm face filled the panes, and zuko had to stifle a laugh. how ridiculous he must look. showing up at his friend's apartment at two a.m., the streetlights shading him in a fuzzy dark haze. his cheeks were red, and he thinks he felt tear tracks, or maybe that was the cold. did it really even matter at this point?

sokka opened the door, his eyes shadowed by sleeplessness. his hair was ruffled and he wore a baggy t-shirt that hung off of his broad shoulders. zuko had never thought he'd looked so beautiful.

“is everything okay?” he asked quietly.

zuko laughed, something cold and harsh, like rusted gears scraping against each other. oh, what a malfunctioning machine he was. “no,” he said after a moment's silence, “no, it's not.”

sokka just nodded and opened the door wider, turning on some lights and beckoning zuko in. he stood there awkwardly for a soft pause, unsure of what to do. sokka had curled up on the couch, and tilted his head in a “c’mere” sort of way, so zuko obliged. he sat stiffly, to which sokka wrapped an arm around zuko’s shoulders. he easily leaned zuko on his chest, so zuko’s chin lay against him. he rubbed zuko’s back and said in a voice gentler than zuko ever could dream of deserving, “do you want to talk about it?”

zuko opened his mouth, about to say no, but the words poured out before he could stop them. he just started talking, every single fear and hurt and trauma slipping out of his traitorous mouth and filling the chilly air between them. he told sokka the truth about his father, about his mother, about azula. he talked about jet, about himself, about a relationship that spewed fear and anger like a gushing wound. he laid it all out, took apart his chest and set it on the table for sokka to see. and sokka just sat there, listening. he held zuko close, or ghosted his fingers through zuko’s hair, or wiped away his tears. it was the safest, the most loved, and the most whole that zuko had ever felt in his life. he was drunk on the feeling. he never wanted to be without it again.

when he was done, sokka gave zuko a soft look, and murmured, “thank you for telling me.” 

all zuko could do was nod. everything had slithered out of him, and he was drained, empty, but this was the good kind. he wasn't aching to be filled. he knew that somehow, it would come in time. 

“let's get some sleep, okay?” sokka whispered, and zuko nodded numbly. the other boy slipped his hands under zuko and carried him, damsel-in-distress style, up the stairs to his bed. zuko was more than a little shocked, but didn't want to say anything for fear he would shatter the fantasy. sokka curled up under the blankets and waited for zuko to do the same. the two boys faced the ceiling for a long, terrible minute. then sokka wriggled forward and wrapped himself around zuko, who slowly relaxed against his frame. “it's gonna be okay,” he promised. 

zuko knew this wasn't over. he knew an uncomfortable conversation was waiting for him when the sun rose. he would have to talk to sokka about this, too. the calm and comfort he found in his friend’s touch. but he wasn't worried. he knew he was safe, protected. he knew he was loved. and that was all he needed. this wasn't over, not by a long shot. but right now, zuko could rest. it was a start. and that's all he needed.

and if he snuggled a little closer than necessary into sokka’s chest, well, that was entirely coincidental.


	2. hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's a second chapter, since y'all asked! this is definitely gonna be longer than two chapters but i'm not gonna say exactly how long because uh,, motivation whom? anyway, i hope y'all enjoy! :")

zuko was by no means a morning person. he only woke when he was forced, usually by a screeching alarm, a hungry cat, or uncle, who would drop by his apartment from time to time to “say hello” (this was a nice way of putting it. a truer definition would be “you don’t know how to take care of yourself, so i'm going to do it for you”). regardless, only under a great threat to his life and limbs would zuko wake up early. so zuko was used to opening his eyes to annoyingly bright sunlight, and he'd gotten quite acquainted to the awful position the sun rested in around ten in the morning.

what zuko wasn't used to was waking up in someone else's bed.

it was disorienting, to say the least. he hadn't noticed at first. the eye-scorching sunshine was normal, the crushed pillow was normal, and the sheets lying halfway across the room was also normal. but then it started to hit. his sheets were a simple gray. these were navy blue and had… tiny penguins? he had a small succulent on his own desk, while this person’s desk was cluttered and full of crumpled gum wrappers. the setup was completely different, and zuko was about to bolt, until he realized: this was sokka’s room.

zuko’s mind was still fuzzy and heavy from sleep, but after a quick panic, he calmed and settled into a deep pit of shame and embarrassment. nothing had happened last night. zuko just showed up at sokka’s apartment and decided to treat him like his own personal psychologist for an hour or so. real mature, huh? that definitely sounds like something a stable person would do.

christ, he was so fucking stupid.

but hey, it would be over soon enough. he'd find sokka, apologize, and then make a disgraceful exit out of his life. that's how friendships worked, at least for zuko. if it lasted longer than a year, it was time to make them leave. but usually it didn't come to that.

this one felt more real than anything he'd ever had before, though. it felt like it could survive this, survive anything. their (friendship? relationship? something in between?) was like a tree, roots curling deep into the ground, soft branches shooting into the sky. it was solid and safe. but that's just wishful thinking. sokka would drop him before the clock hit noon.

with a sigh, zuko struggled out of bed. a pair of clothes were folded at the foot of the bed, he noticed, barely managing to keep from knocking them over. a soft-looking red shirt and a pair of loose sweatpants. (sokka must've set them out to wear later, or something.) zuko was still wearing his clothes from yesterday, and a quick smell proved they weren't too radioactive. with a cavern groaning and growing in his stomach, zuko padded down the stairs. he could already feel his cheeks warming — this was so humiliating.

sokka was standing in front of the stove, frying eggs and wearing a bright purple apron. he turned, and zuko could read, in block letters, the words “kiss the cook”. don't i wish, a traitorous part of zuko whispered. 

sokka’s smile was wide, energetic, and completely unexpected. 

“morning, sleepyhead!” he sang. “i was wondering if you'd died in your sleep or something. and how did you sleep, anyway? did the sunlight wake up? if so, that's my-”

“no, no, it's fine,” zuko reassured him, completely unprepared for this. every molecule of him was shrieking in absolute terror, but through some god-given miracle he managed to hold it together. “i slept well, thank you.”

“great! grab us plates, will ya?” sokka called over his shoulder, turning back to the eggs. 

zuko just stood for a minute, frantically trying to figure out where the plates were, but sokka interrupted his panic with a, “they’re in the cupboard next to the sink.”

zuko grabbed two plates and set them on the small table in the kitchen, while sokka grabbed coffee and poured it into two mugs. black for zuko, a droplet of coffee buried under a mess of creamer and sugar for himself. he scooped eggs onto their plates and began eating. zuko just sat in stunned silence. finally, he knew he couldn't take it any longer.

“why are you being so nice to me?” zuko asked, a small fault line tracing through his words.

sokka looked up from his food, eyes wide and soft. 

“because i'm your friend, dumbass,” he answered, shaking his head with a slight smile.

the words felt like ashes in his mouth, thick and smouldering, but he managed to choke them up. “no, that's not what i meant. i mean… after last night. i was such a mess. you don't need to keep pretending it didn't happen. just tell me to leave, i understand.”

sokka’s face hardened, and he shot zuko a confused look. “is that what this is about? my god, zuko.”

zuko prepared himself for the awkward apology, the “please get out of my life”, but it never came.

sokka reached across the table and cupped zuko’s face in his. 

“you absolute idiot,” he said softly. 

zuko didn't move. couldn't move. he felt like he was dissolving, his skin melting against the heat of sokka’s palms pressed to his cheeks. he couldn't breathe. was this death? was this ascension? was this heaven, gentle touches and the sweet scent of cedar choking him? if this was his gift, the promise of religion, he'd bloody his knees worshipping at the altar of his god. but sokka was already here.

“i'm not pretending it didn't happen, you nerd. i was trying to give you space to bring it up when you felt comfortable. i care about you and i want to help you, but forcing you to talk about things that are… really fucking heavy isn't the way to help. if you want to talk about last night, i'm here. i just didn't want to force you.”

zuko nodded dumbly, trying to take it all in. he felt like an elephant asked to perform a soliloquy. he'd never experienced this, didn't know how to respond.

“thank you.” zuko said quietly, swallowing past a lump in his throat. “it means more than you know.”

sokka nodded. “you wanna move to the couch? this is not the best seating arrangement for a heart-to-heart, you know?”

zuko let himself be led over to the couch, sokka sitting right next to him. he could feel sokka’s thigh pressing into his own, a steadying touch. before he could process what that meant, an arm was carefully wrapped around his shoulder and sokka was leaning zuko against his chest. zuko made a soft sound of protest, but sokka interjected.

“nuh-uh, nope. you asked for therapist sokka, you get therapist sokka. take it or leave it, baby.”

zuko was shellshocked and reeling from being called “baby”, (unless that was just a joke?) but managed to splutter, “therapists don't cuddle their clients.”

“whatever,” sokka said airily, “it works, doesn't it?” (zuko thinks he tossed in a wink there, but maybe that's just hopefulness getting the best of him.)

the humor between them faded, and zuko took a steadying breath. this was gonna suck.

“i know i've got… so much baggage,” zuko started, his voice wobbling like a freshman sorority girl trying to prove that she's sober, “and i know i should probably do something about it. but it's just…”

“terrifying?” sokka offered, “nerve-wracking? awful? makes you want to piss your pants?”

“all of the above,” zuko said weakly, trying to nudge a laugh out of sokka (who gladly obliged). 

“it wasn't right for me to dump everything on you last night, and i'm sorry. i know i need a therapist, and i'm gonna work on getting one. i promise i won't show up at your door at two in the morning in tears again. probably.”

sokka just smiled gently. “i wouldn’t complain if you do.”

before zuko knew what was happening, sokka had pressed a small kiss against zuko’s forehead. it was a lightning strike, a tidal wave of sensation (and serotonin). this was a thousand volts of electricity shooting through his veins. it was a high stronger than any drug, a thrill brighter than anything he'd ever felt. he was a burnt out shell, empty of everything and full of space to be filled. he'd bottle up this moment and down it like salvation. this was his revelation, his true rescuing. he was a sinner and sokka was his savior, honey-sweet and strong as willpower. this was everything he'd ever wanted.

but then sokka moved and the link between them shattered. “i'm glad i could help a little,” he grinned. “if you need any good therapists, let me know- my dad’s boyfriend is a psychologist, and he knows tons of people.”

zuko thought he had whiplash. “your dad's… what?”

“my dad's boyfriend,” sokka said coolly, and zuko could feel him pulling away, ever so slightly. “is that a problem?”

zuko almost laughed. he was gay, for fuck’s sakes. the fact that sokka thought he was homophobic was ridiculous. but this did mean sokka was probably straight. queerness tended to skip a couple generations.

“of course not,” zuko assured him. “i was just caught by surprise, that's all. but i would really appreciate it if you could ask him for me.”

sokka visibly relaxed. “of course,” he chimed. “you know, i'm having dinner with him and dad and katara next friday, if you want to come and talk to him yourself.”

“oh,” zuko said, trying not to spontaneously combust, “that would be great, yeah.” (let's just ignore the fact that he was as painfully introverted as he was tall, the entire dinner would be a disaster, and then sokka would actually never speak to him again. sounds like so much fun.)

sokka stood and ruffled zuko’s hair playfully. “alright, therapy’s over, let's watch some tv, like real men,” he boomed, with a theatrically deep voice. he rifled through the cabinet for a minute before finding a remote and turning on the television, turning on the great british baking show. zuko snorted.

“oh, so you're gonna make fun of my taste in television, huh?” sokka complained, crossing his arms over his chest.

zuko smiled just a bit, enough for sokka to catch it. “don't worry sokka, i like it too. i won't tell anyone and jeopardize your manhood.”

“thank fuck,” sokka snorted, wriggling his way closer to zuko. the tv chattered and fuzzed, but all he could focus on was sokka’s cedar scent and the warm heat of skin against skin. maybe things would be okay, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so i might??? make this into a "zuko gets actual mental help" series, with some zukka on the side, of course, so if you'd be interested in reading that, please comment or contact me on tumblr! (@nbjirou)


End file.
